


Dreamt I Kept Dreaming

by airebellah



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Coming In Pants, First Time, Hand Jobs, Lack of Communication, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Underage Sex, post-Homecoming, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 09:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17159864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airebellah/pseuds/airebellah
Summary: Peter was not expecting a large, firm hand to land on his knee. He jumped at the touch, teeth clenching as he banged his knee against the table.“Sorry,” he mumbled as his aunt stared at him questioningly. Tony glanced over, too, turning his head so May could not see his growing half-smile. “Uh. Bit my tongue.”May laughed, exchanging an exacerbated head shake with Tony. “That's what happens when you inhale your food, sweetie.”Or, Tony gives Peter a hand job... in front of May.





	Dreamt I Kept Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for someone on tumblr :) hope you enjoy!

Sometimes Peter couldn’t believe his luck.

_ Well _ _.  _ He swallowed against a sudden dryness in his throat as his stomach grew twisted and disturbed. Certainly not  _ everything _ was luck, not -- he spared a guilty glance at his aunt May, who was smiling more brightly than he once thought would ever be possible again. What had happened to her, to  _ them _ _ , _ hadn’t been luck. And maybe the bite hadn’t been, either. But as he glanced to the guest sitting next to him, looking terribly out of place at a rickety table in Queens eating lentil casserole, he couldn’t help but think luck had  _ something _ to do with it.

Because there was no way Tony Stark,  _ Iron Man himself _ _ ,  _ would just pluck Peter Parker, one amongst countless other underground hero-wannabes, from obscurity by chance. And perhaps he had been staring a  _ little _ too long, because Tony was staring back, just out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching into a mistakably subtle smirk.

The teen turned back to his meal immediately, horrified at being caught gawking at his mentor like the awkward, fumbling kid Tony’s presence always reduced him to. Fresh off of that humiliation, Peter was  _ not _ expecting a large, firm hand to land on his knee. He started at the touch, teeth clenching as he banged his knee against the table.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as his aunt stared at him questioningly. Tony glanced over, too, turning his head so May could not see his growing half-smile. “Uh. Bit my tongue.”

May laughed, exchanging an exacerbated head shake with their guest. “That's what happens when you inhale your food, sweetie.”

Tony chuckled, good-naturedly, but the sound was punctuated by just shy off too-tight squeezes on Peter's knee. His plate was clear, so May did not notice the absence of Tony's left hand, slowly massaging the tension out of her nephew's stiffened knee.

“He's a good kid,” Tony announced, seemingly apropos of nothing. But the praise left Peter an awkward mix of blushing and preening, and as his leg muscles momentarily relaxed, Tony's hand followed a burning trail up the boy's thigh.

Despite being able to lift a bus over his head, Peter hadn't really put on much mass since the bite. His muscles were defined, certainly, but easily disguised under regular clothes. And he had never felt so  _ small _ as Tony's hand easily engulfed the middle of his thigh.

He didn't know what to make of it. No one had ever touched his leg like this -- the only incident that came to mind was Liz Allen, a distant few months ago, brushing her manicured nails against the side of his leg in the backseat of her dad's car. But that was to grab his attention, which had been solely focused on the Vulture sitting before them.

Her touch had tingled. Maybe. He couldn't remember much beyond the furious beating of his heart, that night. But he knew, with unmistakable certainty, that it did not  _ burn _ like this. Tony's touch was something he could feel to his core, like the man was squeezing the cartilage right out of his bone instead of just resting his hand above the rough material of Peter's jeans.

And perhaps it wasn't a good idea to think about his previous -- _only_ \-- crush, because there was a sudden ache in his groin that seemed to coincide with Tony's fingers dancing up his inner thigh. There must have a disconnect, somewhere, as the heat suddenly rushing to his cock battled the jittery nausea bubbling in his stomach. His thoughts began to race, but nothing seemed to stick beyond a panicked _what what what what_ as there was a brush of fingertips, unmistakable, nudging against his cock.

Peter truly  _ did _ bite down on his tongue when the radiating heat of Tony's palm suddenly enveloped his cock. It was gentle at first, testing, slick skin rubbing across Peter's jeans. When all the teen could do in response was quietly choke on his own spit, the grip became firmer, more assured, fingers tightening until there was no doubt the man felt the throbbing response of Peter's cock.

And Peter --

Peter was lost. He was vaguely aware of his aunt seated across from him. He was _more than_ aware of Tony beside him, but the man currently cajoling May for her secret to everlasting youth with a flirtatious grin seemed so disconnected from the hand casually stroking up and down Peter's unmistakable erection.

But no, it wasn't stroking; it was too purposeful **,** determined, like he knew the exact rhythm and pace to a game Peter still didn't understand. The boy hunched forward, curling in on himself to keep from throwing his head back and letting out the low, guttural groan building in his throat. It seemed only to egg the man on even more; Tony's hand moved quicker, thumb rubbing circles at the head before sliding back down, until Peter's arms were shaking and his jaw  _ ached _ from being clamped shut and May was reaching across the table, brows knitted against a slightly bemused smile.

“Peter?” she enquired. The drag of her fingertips against the back of his hand was unexpected, and Peter jolted in his seat. The movement only served to shift his cock more firmly into Tony’s grip, who responded with a smug smile.

“I think he’s a bit too full for dessert,” Tony cut in, voice smooth and completely unaffected. Unlike Peter, who gave a simple, jerky nod, not entirely sure what he was agreeing with. “Although your fruit cake sounds delicious. Why don’t we put on a movie instead?”

The burning, tight grip on his cock disappeared, and Peter cleared his throat out of a whimper. Instead Tony’s arm lift to sling across Peter’s shoulders, a completely platonic touch on display for his aunt’s view. “Kid?” he prompted, giving Peter a gentle jostle.

“Movie - uh,” he broke off, coughing into his elbow as his voice came out as little more than a squeak. “Movie sounds good, sir.”

Tony’s fingers tightened, digging into Peter’s shoulder joint until the boy was forced to look up. He was beyond relieved his aunt chose that moment to clear their plates, because -- the look Tony gave him, lips pursed and gaze dark and heavy, had Peter’s mouth falling open.

“I, I -” he stuttered uselessly.

He watched Tony’s throat bob in a silent swallow. Then the man stood, without a word, and tugged the teen after him. Peter found himself pushed into the sofa, wedged into the corner, with Tony sat to his left. A knitted throw was strewn across his lap before Tony was reaching under and cupping Peter’s crotch with a startling lack of ceremony. The teen, halfway to convincing himself the events at the dining table had been some feverish dream, almost leapt off the couch.

“Relax, Pete,” Tony soothed, abandoning Peter’s cock for just a moment, to pat his thigh consolingly. “You’ll feel good.”

Peter truly tried to relax, allowing himself to slump against his mentor. And Tony hummed approvingly, his right arm stretching across the boy’s shoulders. But his muscles seized once again when May popped back into the room, arms engulfed in bright rubber gloves. “I’m just going to wash up,” she explained with an easy smile. “Why don’t you put something on, and I’ll catch up?”

Normally, Peter would have protested. He would have offered to wash the dishes, since his aunt worked long hours and she had cooked their meal, after all. But Tony responded before he could open his mouth or even decide  _ what _ his response would have been. “We’ll find something good,” he said with a laugh that seemed to promise more.

A simple flick of Tony’s fingers had the button of Peter’s jeans popping loose. The teen was quite sure even  _ he _ had never managed to open them so smoothly, and they were  _ his _ pants. This time he couldn’t hold back from letting his head fall back, throat quivering as Tony’s hand slipped beneath the material, the heat of his skin burning right through Peter’s thin boxers.

He was not even fully sure Tony had put on a movie at all. There may have seen a flicker of lights across the screen when his head had lifted, but his ears were filled only with the sound of his heavy pants. 

“Fuck, kid,” Tony groaned under his breath as his fingers rubbing the material at the head of his cock, damp with precome. “Who knew you would get so fucking wet for me?”

“S-Sorry,” Peter stammered through painfully clenched teeth. He had no idea what to say, no experience or knowledge to base his reaction on.

“Pete, you’re a goddamned _gift_ to me,” Tony purred, pressing the wet material against Peter’s cock. It was infinitesimally better than rubs through his jeans, and his hips bucked up helplessly. 

“Sir?” he asked, not at all sure what he was even asking. But Tony’s response was to cup his palm against the head of Peter’s cock, fingers stroking up the shaft. “I-I don’t know-”

“I’ve been waiting for you, kiddo,” Tony interrupted. His right hand relinquished its bruising grip from the teen’s bicep to fist his curls, tilting Peter’s head until the teen burrowed his face against the man’s shoulder. “You know I think this is okay, right?” His voice was hushed, like the billionaire’s glowing praise was a secret best kept between the two of them. “All I think about sometimes is the the sounds you’ll make when you come. But you have to stay quiet right now,” he added quickly, when Peter whimpered in response. 

Peter couldn’t say if it was aftershave, or cologne, or just Tony’s scent -- but his nostrils filled with musky warmth as he all but drooled against the expensive cloth of Tony’s sleeve. He had to burrow further in, muffling the unbidden noises pouring from his pleasure-slackened jaw. The material of his boxers was just so  _ thin _ _ , _ and Tony’s hand so large and hot, grip rough and unforgiving. He couldn’t figure out what the man wanted -- was he actually supposed to come like this, hips recklessly canting into Tony’s grip, the evidence of his pleasure poorly concealed by a blanket as his aunt hums along to the radio in the very next room? Or was Tony merely… teasing the teenager for his obvious inexperience?

He sighed, shoulders slumping, as the man’s hand gently card through his hair, fingernails scratching along his scalp before twisting his fingers into Peter’s curls. The soft, soothing touch was replaced by a sudden, stinging yank that forced Peter’s head back. He barely managed to bite back a cry; the sharp pain went straight to his groin, urging him to desperately rut into Tony’s hand. The man didn’t even have to move, just kept his hand still as Peter fucked himself into Tony’s palm, chasing that impending, toe-curling pleasure. 

“That’s it, kid,” Tony coaxed. “Pete. Come for me.”

He heard May’s approaching footsteps moments before Tony would have been able, and so his hips stilled despite their eagerness to fulfill the command. But the man, of course, had other plans; his hand lifted, and for a split second Peter was hit with a strange mixture of anguished relief, thinking this torment was over. But then Tony’s hand was slipping beneath the waistband of his underwear, callused engineer’s fingers catching on the silky-smooth skin of Peter’s bare shaft. Peter’s next exhale caught in his throat, lungs burning, but he couldn’t _release it_ because he knew it would be a ragged, wrecked moan and May was standing before him suddenly, smile slipping from her lips.

The concerned press of her hand against his sweaty forehead came just as Tony’s fingers wrapped around his shaft. His skin was slick with precome, and the first _real_ glide of Tony’s hand along his aching cock forced him right over the edge to orgasm. His hands balled into fists, arms shaking as his muscles tightly clenched, a whimpered sigh escaping his lips as he released into a full-body languish.

“Baby?” May insisted worriedly. “I think you’re coming down with something.”

All Peter could manage in that moment was a strangled, “‘M fine.”

“I don’t mind just letting him rest,” Tony said, patting the boy’s shoulder consolingly. 

May settled into the couch on Tony’s other side. The worried glances she occasionally sent Peter’s way were missed by the boy, who was forced to press his face into own drool cooling on Tony’s shoulder. Because the tech mogul was not done yet; he withdrew his hand with an achingly slow retreat, the movement undetectable under the blanket even as he pulled Peter’s boxers back over his softening cock. Then he gently fondled Peter, through his underwear, pinching and rubbing at the come-soaked material. The teen tried to jerk away, overly sensitive to the touch, but Tony’s fingers dug into his bicep admonishingly. It was nothing he couldn’t break out of, but with his aunt sitting right on the other side, he heeded Tony’s warning and stayed still.

**Author's Note:**

> [Visit me on tumblr for more of my Starker ficlets, to submit requests, and geek out with me over these dorks.](http://airebellah.tumblr.com)


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